


The Demise of Walburga Black

by SeriouslySam



Series: Moments in Time [5]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, Harry Ron George roommates, Harry is a Weasley, Humor, Portrait burning, Post-Hogwarts, drunk
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-15
Updated: 2020-06-15
Packaged: 2021-03-04 03:14:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,426
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24736753
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SeriouslySam/pseuds/SeriouslySam
Summary: With the help of the Weasleys, Harry takes down Walburga Black's portrait.
Relationships: Harry Potter/Ginny Weasley, Hermione Granger/Ron Weasley
Series: Moments in Time [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1800097
Comments: 5
Kudos: 107





	The Demise of Walburga Black

**Author's Note:**

> Special thanks to Arnel for looking this over.

**“The Demise of Walburga Black”**

  
If at the age of eleven someone had told Harry Potter that he would inherit a dilapidated old house that once belonged his convict godfather, he would have laughed in their face. Except, at eighteen, Harry found himself renovating the neglected house with his best mates. Ron and George Weasley moved into Grimmauld Place not long after Harry’s birthday. He allowed both of them to live there rent free with him if they would help him fix up the house so it could be inhabitable once again.  
  
For some reason, Grimmauld Place made him feel closer to Sirius despite his godfather’s hatred for the house. Sirius grew up there and it was the only home that they had ever shared even if it was only for half of a summer and a Christmas holiday. Part of Harry thought that maybe he and Ginny could make the house their own one day. Raise a family there. Be happy. Maybe Sirius would be looking down at them and be happy that they had made the cold house a home.  
  
Harry, Ron, and George painstakingly ripped up all the carpets on the upper floors and replaced them. They replaced the hardwood floors on the main level. They even replaced the tile in the basement kitchen and all the bathrooms. They took down all the decapitated house-elf heads from the walls and the portraits of all the dead Black family members. They ripped off all the yellowing wallpaper from the walls, patched all the holes, and added fresh coats of paint. All the heavy, dark curtains were gone and the rooms saw sunshine for the first time since the Blacks had bought the house centuries ago.  
  
When Hermione and Ginny went back to Hogwarts in September, Harry put every waking moment he wasn’t at the Ministry into fixing up the house. Most of the time, he did things the Muggle way. Working with his hands helped destress him in a way magic never had. It felt good to accomplish the tasks with sweat pouring down his brow and his hands getting calloused. Anything that he found he couldn’t do the Muggle way, George and Ron would finish the task with flicks of their wands.  
  
Arthur Weasley often popped into the house on weekends and gave his advice on how to renovate the house. He had decades of experience as he expanded the Burrow to meet his growing family’s needs. He had done it all himself with little help from anyone. He helped them blow out walls to combine bedrooms, replace windows and doors, and even replaced the entire kitchen.  
  
In a few short months, the house looked completely different. Harry didn’t think Sirius would even be able to recognize the place if he had been alive. All the major living areas had been remodeled as well as half of the bedrooms. Well, everything except for the hallway that housed Walburga Black’s portrait. It was George and Angelina Johnson who came up with the idea after months of discussing how to get the bloody portrait down.  
  
It was one cold December day when Harry, Ron, and George stood clustered together in the hallway of Grimmauld Place staring at the curtain that covered Walburga Black’s portrait. They all had their wands out, whispering out the plan once more with giddy excitement and low chuckles. They broke from the huddle and took position.  
  
George stood on Harry’s left while Ron stood on his right. They raised their wands in unison. Ron and George’s mouths muttered, “ _Bombarda!_ ” as chunks of plaster started to fly in every direction. Harry cast a Shield Charm, protecting them from the flying bits of debris and to contain the mess into a very small area just like Mr. Weasley had taught them. It was enough commotion that the curtain flew off the portrait to reveal a very irate Walburga Black. She stared at them through the cloud of dust.  
  
Harry had never really got a good look at Sirius’ mother before. She was a strict looking woman with piercing cold, gray eyes. Her lips were thin and her nose long. She had slick, black hair that hung like limp spaghetti around her face. Quite like Uncle Vernon, she even had a throbbing red vein that appeared in her forehead when she was furious. Harry was quite glad, in that moment, that he had sent Kreacher away for the day to help out at Hogwarts.  
  
“What _are_ you doing?” she roared as the Weasleys stopped casting Exploding Charms at the wall surround the portrait.  
  
The portrait hung by what little was left of the plaster. It swung violently back and forth. They may be done blasting as it looked like the weight of the portrait was going to snap the last of the plaster off the wall at any second. Harry dropped his Shield Charm.  
  
“We’re getting rid of you,” Harry said flatly as though the answer was quite obvious.  
  
“This is the house of Black!” she screeched. “Get out of my house!”  
  
“I inherited this house. It belongs to me,” Harry said, not quite sure why he felt compelled to carry on a conversation with a mad portrait.  
  
Apparently, this is what his life had become. Renovating an old, dark house to live in while arguing with old pureblooded portraits. He had to admit that at times it was only slightly better than living in a tent while eating wild plants and small animals just to survive. He knew, in the end after Ginny left Hogwarts and moved in with him, that all the hard work and long hours spent fixing up the house would be worth it. It kept him busy, kept his mind off Ginny’s absence, the war, and all the death. His life had become work and renovating. It was precisely what he needed in the months after the war.  
  
“ _You_ are not a Black!”  
  
“No, I’m a Potter. My godfather is Sirius Black. He gave this house to me.”  
  
“That good for nothing, blood traitor-”  
  
Before she could finish whatever it was that she was going to say, Harry raised his wand and sent one last Exploding Charm at the plaster and the portrait fell to the floor with a loud clank. Walburga’s shouting was muffled by the floor. George roared with laughter. Ron cheered. Harry just grinned.  
  
He didn’t know what possessed them to do it, but the three of them found themselves carrying the screaming Walburga Black portrait out of Grimmauld Place and down the streets of London. Her screams were only slightly stifled around the old curtain they wrapped around it. People stared at them as George kept coughing loudly and Ron matched her screams about anything that sprang to mind. They found a dark alleyway next to Number One Grimmauld Place. They slinked behind a dumpster, crouched down so nobody could see them, and counted to three. There was a loud _POP!_ that rang in the alleyway and the three wizards were gone.  
  
Harry supposed he should have known better as George gathered the wood for a bonfire and Ron practiced shooting a controlled fire out of the tip of his wand. Walburga Black continued to scream obscenities at them as the fire began to blaze. Ron took off the curtain so she could watch them as they worked. Mrs. Weasley must have been out for the day because there was no way that she didn’t hear the commotion going on in the back garden.  
  
George had disappeared momentarily as Harry and Ron got the fire blazing high. The snow quickly melted into a mushy mud around the fire and warmed their nearly frozen fingers. In a flash, George was back with three bottles of firewhiskey. They each popped off the lids and began to drink. Harry highly doubted that they would each finish a whole bottle on their own, but he went with it because how does one really complain to your girlfriend’s brother that he brought an excessive amount of alcohol to a bonfire after he had spent the afternoon helping him blast down a portrait of a lunatic, helped him drag it through Muggle London to an Apparition point, helped him Apparate with said portrait, and then build a big enough fire to burn the bloody thing?  
  
Harry only had three sips of the alcohol before he burst out laughing like a crazy person. They were going to burn the portrait of Walburga Black. The whole thing seemed rather ridiculous to be honest and he couldn’t believe he allowed George to talk him into such a thing.  
  
“Are we ready?” George asked with enthusiasm before downing a huge gulp of firewhiskey.  
  
“Do it before Mum gets home and stops us,” Ron encouraged him as he rubbed his hands together in anticipation. He sounded like a small child on Christmas morning.  
  
“Harry, you do the honors. Levitate that bitch into the flames!” George encouraged as he stretched his arms wide.  
  
Pulling out his wand, Harry levitated the portrait into the air. Walburga Black screamed at them to put her down and started spewing off a bunch of nasty, derogatory names at them. George pointed his wand at the portrait and Silenced it. With a flick of Harry’s wrist, the portrait dropped in the flames.  
  
They slung back the whiskey as they watched the portrait burn with wide grins on their faces. The alcohol quickly started to warm Harry’s entire body as he just kept grinning stupidly while he watched Walburga’s face melt in the flames. He knew somewhere, wherever they were, James Potter and Sirius Black were laughing their arses off. Before long with the alcohol taking effect like a relentless wave, they howled in the snow as they watched the portrait continue burn and melt.  
  
Mrs. Weasley must have arrived home halfway through the burning. Their hoots of laughter and drunkenly loud voices must have drawn her out to the back garden. Except, she wasn’t alone. Ginny and Hermione trailed behind her. Harry rose from the ground, his arse so cold but his body so warm at the same time. He could feel the heat rise on his cheeks. He didn’t know whether it was from being embarrassed by being caught, the warmth of the fire blazing beside them, or that he had drank half of a bottle of firewhiskey all on his own.  
  
Mrs. Weasley had her hands on her hips with her lips drawn into a thin line. She looked at each of the boys and all of their half drunk bottles of liquor. Harry took a step forward and swayed dangerously to the left. Yup, he was definitely drunk. He tried to remember a time he had ever drunk so much but came up short.  
  
Harry wracked his brain of how he could have forgotten that it was the start of the Christmas holidays for Hogwarts. He was always so busy these days between work and renovating that he must have forgotten. When George pitched his plan for Walburga’s portrait the night before, well, Harry had become giddy with excitement at the very thought.  
  
Hermione looked at them just as sternly as Mrs. Weasley was. Harry could feel Ron hovering behind him as though he was ready to throw Harry and George under the bus for their misdeeds. Ginny, beautiful and radiant Ginny, held back a snicker as she stared right at him. Harry felt his heart swell at the look she shot his way.  
  
“Are you MAD?” roared Mrs. Weasley. “All of you are drunk! Drunk as skunks! You have a fire that could burn down the whole house! WHAT ARE YOU THINKING?”  
  
“I’m sorry,” Harry fumbled the words out sheepishly.  
  
“Oi, Mum, we’re just burning some trash,” George slurred. “Keep your knickers on.”  
Harry whipped around, his surroundings spinning, as he caught sight of George lounging in the snow. He had his gloves off and discarded them by his thigh in the snow. His hands were tilted towards the fire as he rubbed them together in the most nonchalant way possible.  
  
“Just _burning_ some _trash_?” Mrs. Weasley hissed.  
  
“We got down Sirius’ mum’s portrait,” Ron said in a rush with a flush that spread across his cheeks and the tips of his ears. “We thought it’d be a right laugh to burn her. Actually, it was all George’s idea. He was shagging Angelina last night-”  
  
“OI!” George shouted as he stumbled up from his spot in the snow.  
  
“- and apparently she said we should just take down the whole bloody wall and we could put a new wall up to replace it. We all thought that was a brilliant fucking idea so George came up with the plan and we used magic and got the portrait down but I promise you, Mum, Hermione, we were completely sober when we blasted the portrait down and we were sober when we carried it through the streets of London and we were definitely sober when we Apparated and were sober when we started the fire like responsible adults and the firewhiskey was all George’s idea!”  
  
Harry chuckled nervously as his free hand rubbed the back of his neck. He couldn’t remember a time that Ron had been this shit-faced either. They certainly drank at Hogwarts but he didn’t think they had ever drunk a full bottle of firewhiskey between them. George seemed like he was much more comfortable with his alcohol level.  
  
Mrs. Weasley, Hermione, and Ginny stared into the fire. Harry refused to look back at the fire they were intensely staring at and instead stared at his girlfriend. He tried to gage if she was upset with him and her brothers’ reckless idea. She seemed more amused than the other women. In fact, her eyes danced and there was a wide grin on her face. Harry took another swing of firewhiskey without even thinking about it. By this point, the alcohol wasn’t even burning his throat.  
  
“You’re burning Walburga Black’s portrait?” Hermione questioned as though she hadn’t quite processed Ron’s drunken ramblings. Harry thought he was pleasantly coherent for his inebriated state.  
  
“Didn’t I just say that?” snapped Ron. “Does nobody listen to me when I speak? Not even my own bloody girlfriend listens to me!”  
  
Harry shoved his elbow out to connect with his best mate’s ribs to stop him. He glowered at Harry but shut his mouth immediately as though getting the hint. Luckily. Then, Ginny burst out laughing. Harry couldn’t help but grin at her. Her laughter was like music to his ears.  
  
“Honestly, Ginny, this isn’t funny!” snapped Mrs. Weasley as she stepped forward and shot water out of the tip of her wand to put out the blazing flames behind them. “They could have been injured! They could have died! They could have burned down the Burrow!”  
  
Harry barely paid attention to the commotion around him. Mrs. Weasley continued on her tirade and even Hermione began berating Ron for being so foolish. Harry stumbled forward towards Ginny. He knew he was smiling like a fool, but he didn’t even care at that moment. He had missed her. He missed their late-night chats, kissing her, feeling her body against his, the way his body spooned into hers in bed.  
  
When he was directly in front of her, Harry reached out his free hand and cupped her cheek. Her skin felt so warm against his fingertips. His hand glided along her cheek until it dug snugly underneath her Gryffindor scarf and wrapped around the nape of her neck. He leaned down and their lips connected.  
  
It was then that he realized just how cold he was. His lips felt like they were nearly frozen as they didn’t cooperate quite right. He could feel the smile of Ginny’s lips against his, felt her shoulders rising up and down as she suppressed a laugh. He pulled back and nestled his nose against her cheek.  
  
“You’re freezing, Potter,” she said in a voice as sweet as molasses.  
  
“You are making me quite warm,” he whispered huskily.  
  
Ginny reached up and took the scarf from her neck. She wrapped it around him and even tucked the ends into his winter coat. She then grabbed the bottle of firewhiskey from his nearly frozen fingers and took a big swing. His eyes shot open wide as he turned around to see Mrs. Weasley was engaged in an argument with George. He didn’t want Mrs. Weasley thinking he was giving her daughter alcohol.  
  
“Honestly, you _are_ the oldest! They’re your younger brothers! You should be watching out for them and not helping them cause mayhem!” Mrs. Weasley shouted.  
  
Harry’s whole body tingled with warmth. _They’re your younger brothers_ rang pleasantly in his mind as he turned back to Ginny. She had a mischievous glint in her eyes. With one hand still clenched around the neck of the firewhiskey bottle, the other hand grasped his wrist. She started walking backwards and tugged him along with her.  
  
Harry felt slightly guilty leaving George and Ron to be yelled at by their mother and girlfriend respectively. Another part of him thought that it wasn’t his fault that his girlfriend was more amused by the situation than mad. He turned back to where the fire had been blazing just moments ago. The slightly melted frame of the portrait was propped up on the charred firewood. The canvas was completely gone. Walburga Black would not live another day.  
  
Then, he was jerked roughly into the kitchen of the Burrow. They made their way through kitchen, into the living room, up the stairs, and finally into Ginny’s bedroom. He kicked the door shut behind him. He suddenly felt very brave to be in Ginny’s room with the door closed with her brothers and mother downstairs. It was something neither one even attempted to do before. Ginny took another swing of firewhiskey before she held the bottle out to Harry. He took it with a smirk and took a larger than necessary gulp.  
  
She peeled off her knitted hat, gloves, and shrugged off her jacket. She sat down on the edge of her bed and crossed one leg over the other. Harry stood in front of her. He had never seen someone as beautiful as she was.  
  
“How’d you get the portrait down? I couldn’t quite understand Ron when he was half-shouting in his drunken state,” inquired Ginny playfully.  
  
“Some Exploding Charms and a Shield Charm,” Harry replied as his mind happily buzzed. “She wasn’t very happy with us. Walburga, that is. She has a vocabulary that could rival Ron’s.”  
  
“I would imagine not. I can’t believe you dragged that portrait back to the Burrow to burn it.”  
  
She was thoroughly amused by the whole scenario. She held out a hand for the firewhiskey and he obliged instantly. His cold fingers brushed against her warm ones and a jolt of electricity seemed to shoot through his entire body. He started to peel away his winter clothes. He kicked off his boots, unwound the scarf from his neck, took off his hat, and threw the winter jacket onto the floor. He collapsed onto the bed beside her. He was suddenly very aware of just how close they were sitting.  
  
“That portrait was heavy as hell,” he whispered as he leaned his head forward and buried his face into her neck.  
  
“I imagine it would be,” Ginny laughed as her hand tickled his thigh.  
  
“I’ve missed you,” he murmured. “I’ve been making us a home.”  
  
He felt her stiffen. Her fingers clamped tightly on his thigh. He wondered if she didn’t want to build a home with him. His heart hammered irregularly in his chest at the thought. His throat narrowed uncomfortably.  
  
“You’ve what?” she questioned.  
  
“Nothing.”  
  
He shot up like a canon and sat next to her with his back oddly straight. He suddenly felt very sick and wondered if it was due to the alcohol or embarrassment. Had he been stupid?  
  
“You’ve been making us a home?” she asked with the corners of her mouth twitching. “How?”  
  
“I… well… uh… I’ve been… err… Grimmauld Place,” he stumbled as he narrowed his eyes and tried to form a coherent thought in his jumbled mind.  
  
“You’ve been cleaning up Grimmauld Place?” Ginny supplied the words that he couldn’t form.  
  
“Yes,” he said carefully.  
  
“For us?”  
  
“Yes.”  
  
“For us to call home?”  
  
“Err… yes?”  
  
Harry could hear his blood pumping in his ears. The seconds that passed seemed to be hours. He wanted to reach out and rip the firewhiskey out of her hands so he could take a huge gulp just so he would have something to do. A few more beats passed and Ginny’s face finally broke out into a smile. Harry felt himself instantly relax and he grinned stupidly at her.  
  
“I’d like that. A home with Harry Potter,” she commented. “I’ve missed you too. Do I get to see what you’ve done to the place?”  
  
“Well, it’s not done. There’s a huge hole where the portrait was that we need to fix. George and Ron have been helping me. Your dad too. It looks completely different. I thought when you were finished with Hogwarts, you’d want to move in and we could get married and have a family there.”  
  
The words spilled out of his mouth like word vomit before he could stop himself. He felt embarrassed by the admission and his lack of control due to the alcohol. He was never going to drink with George again. He held his liquor far better than Harry could.  
  
“I’d love that,” she whispered. “Is that really what you want?”  
  
“Why wouldn’t it be?”  
  
“Well, I’m just making sure that this is Harry’s plan and not drunk Harry’s plan,” she said carefully.  
  
“It’s both our plans. Both sober and drunk me want to have a home and a family with you,” Harry commented as he squinted at her. “I’m kind of drunk right now but drunk me knows what sober me wants. All sober me thinks about is you. Drunk me thinks about you too but in way more randy ways.”  
  
Ginny burst out laughing. The yells of Mrs. Weasley were now ringing from the kitchen. Harry wanted nothing more than to stay in her room for the next hour because he had missed her so much. Except, he didn’t want to be caught. He had too good of a relationship with the Weasleys to spoil it for a drunken shag. At least, that’s what he kept telling himself. There would be plenty of time for that later.  
  
Instead, he settled for drawing his face close to hers. He captured her lips into a rather sloppy kiss. He felt like his lips had finally warmed up from the cold and were cooperating much easier the second time around.  
  
“OI! POTTER! GET YOUR FUCKING ARSE DOWN HERE!” George’s voice bellowed from below. “IF RON AND I ARE GOING TO BE YELLED AT, THEN YOU ARE TOO! WE BURNED THAT BLOODY PORTRAIT FOR YOU!”  
  
Harry chuckled against Ginny’s lips. He pulled away and felt the heat rising again on his face. He stood up and swayed slightly. Ginny sat the firewhiskey bottle onto the floor before she stood up and looped her arm with his. They made their way down to the kitchen. Harry realized he was slightly excited to be yelled at by Mrs. Weasley. He couldn’t really remember a time a parent yelled at him because they actually cared about his well-being. It would be a nice change to what he was used to growing up. He thought this may very well be his official initiation into the Weasley family if Mrs. Weasley was comfortable enough to scream at him for something he did wrong. He glanced over at Ginny and grinned widely. She merely laughed at him and rolled her eyes playfully.  
  
He let go of Ginny’s arm and nearly ran over to stand beside George. The three of them stood in a line in front of Mrs. Weasley. George looked bored, Ron looked embarrassed, and Harry tried to keep the stupid grin off his face. Mrs. Weasley laid into them about their recklessly drunken behavior for a good fifteen minutes.  
  
Mrs. Weasley stopped her tirade and her face softened. She busied herself around the kitchen and instructed the boys to sit down at the table. Harry took a seat without hesitation and smiled despite himself when Ginny slid down next to him. Her hand toyed with his thigh.  
  
“I can’t very well have any of you help,” huffed Mrs. Weasley. “You’ll chop off your fingers in that state you three are in.”  
  
“We are of age, Mum,” George reminded her. “No touching knives when you have magic to do it for you. Plus, I’m not a light weight like these other two.”  
  
“You three have done enough damage for the day,” Mrs. Weasley said sternly as she waved her wand and the kitchen came alive. “What possessed you three to burn that portrait anyways?”  
  
“Sounded like a good idea,” George said nonchalantly as he propped his feet up on the table. “She was a horrid woman. It was funny.”  
  
Mrs. Weasley shot George a look and motioned for him to get his feet off the table. He rolled his eyes before complying. Harry took in the scene in front of him and felt his heart swell. He loved being at the Burrow.  
  
“So, tell us all about it,” Mrs. Weasley said with a sigh. “Go on. We all hated that portrait. I could use a good laugh.”  
  
Harry grinned and broke into the story of how the three of them blasted the plaster, how Walburga had screamed at them, how they carried it through Muggle London with odd looks from the surrounding Muggles, and how George had the bright idea to burn the portrait for fun. He conveniently left out why they started drinking. He realized that when he finished his tale, he had never talked so much at once in his life.  
  
Ginny leaned into his side and rested her head on his shoulder while Mrs. Weasley brought bowls and plates filled with food to the table. The Weasleys, Hermione, and Harry chatted about Hogwarts and renovations at Grimmauld Place. George tried to sneak some firewhiskey into their glasses but had it confiscated by Mrs. Weasley.  
  
For the first time since Ginny had left for Hogwarts, Harry felt completely at ease. He felt like he was finally home.


End file.
